Saturday, 10 a.m.:

I wake up and I'm ready to do the sex because this is often how my boyfriend and I usually start out our Saturday mornings. Let's get naughty, Mr. Grey.

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What you're supposed to do: Put your knees in the air like Anastasia did when she lost her virginity. Have him thrust into you very slowly about four times. Then, have him shift onto his elbows while he rests his weight on you and continues to thrust quickly.

What we do: We get down to the deed and it's … well, it's normal missionary sex? It's Saturday morning and we're doing it. So that's pretty cool and not that unusual. Sex is cool. I dig it. So far, so good. Fifty Shades/almost the entire world knows what they're talking about!

Saturday, noon:

Now, we're not normally twice-in-a-day people but every now and then, usually on vacation, we rise (or he rises? Credit where credit is due!) to the occasion.

What you're supposed to do: From behind, have him thrust deeply into you at an extremely slow pace. After several thrusts, he should pull back and wait until you demand he continue. Thrusting should then recommence.

What we do: This is just doggy-style sex. And it's literally doggy-style because I am barking orders at him. This is not something we generally do or even like, so the slow thrusts were punctuated by giggles. Which is definitely sexy, but maybe not BDSM sexy. It's more like goofy sexy. As in the dog, Goofy. The Disney character.

Saturday, 3 p.m.:

What you're supposed to do: Sip wine from his mouth, then have him pour some wine in your belly button and try not to spill it. Have him tie your wrists together and lie on your bed with your hands above your head. Have him kiss you from head to toe, then go to your clitoris and perform slow, teasing cunnilingus. After that, he should thrust into you hard and fast.

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What we do: Our version of this starts with me drinking wine from his lips like a little baby bird receiving sustenance from its mom. After that humiliating bit of business, he pours wine in my belly button, which is dumb because I hate (and I mean HATE, all caps) to waste wine. Then he fingers me while I try not to spill the wine out of my belly button. It's ridiculous. Do you know how little wine fits in a belly button? It's like one-third of a thimble of wine. It's so ridiculous that I comment on this out loud, and it kind of annoys my boyfriend because I'm already forcing him to do this. I think he extra-relishes that he gets to tie me up next, because he laughs like a madman while he does it. He then goes down on me as instructed and it is divine. I love oral sex so much; if you look up happiness in the dictionary, it is just my boyfriend going down on me as Joshua Jackson feeds me chocolate bonbons and I give the camera a thumbs-up.

After that, he finishes off with some missionary style sex and I'm like, yawn, whatever, I gots mine. So, you know, your usual Saturday at 3 p.m. thing.

Saturday, 5 p.m.:

"He pulls my sweatpants completely off and then guides me into a kneeling position, gently caressing my now very sore behind."

Four times in one day? What is this? The Olympics? All I want to do is eat cake and watch Gilmore Girls, but I somehow feel too dirty for either of these things.

What you're supposed to do: After foreplay, have him flip you over and put your butt in the air with your knees on the bed. Have him spank you, then thrust deeply into you.

What we do: We agree to take a doughnut break after this one, so I'm newly invigorated. Let us do this. Spank that ass, baby, because afterward, I get to put something long and soft in my mouth, and I'm talking about eclairs! Oh my goodness, I just turned myself on. However, I'll admit it: When my boyfriend says, "Have you been a naughty girl because you want to eat all the doughnuts?" and then spanks me, I am totally into it. As he transitions into taking me from behind, I imagine he has a giant cruller for a face, and I like it. I make a note to discuss this in therapy.

Saturday, 11 p.m.:

We're not going as fast on this Fifty Shades of Weekend Boning list as I'd like but we couldn't bring ourselves to have any further sex for a few hours. We are only human!

What you're supposed to do: For this foreplay move, you should be braless with your arms around his neck. Play with his hair while he does the same to your nipples and kisses your neck.

What we do: This is just me standing in front of the boyfriend as he squeezes my boobs from behind and says "honk." I'm starting to think he's not taking this that seriously. But then again, it's nearing midnight and we are both a little loopy so I reach behind and honk his dick and we are just honking each other whilst saying honk for, like, 10 minutes. I want video of this played at our wedding.

Saturday, midnight:

Uncoiling from the floor, rising lazily, like a jungle cat, he points the end of the riding crop at my navel, leisurely circling it — tantalizing me.

I have to be honest. I am exhausted. I am so tired. So very tired.

What you're supposed to do: Have him tie you up, blindfold you, and drag a riding crop from your stomach to your clitoris, stimulating you there until you come.

What we do: I feel like we were going along with some pretty normal activities and then BAM! Have him masturbate you with a whip. Full disclosure: I don't have a crop or a whip or anything fun because I am boring AF. However, I do have a feather duster and, after washing it and drying it with a blowdryer while catching up on the Kardashians, we used that. My boyfriend proceeds to tickle me all over with the feather duster because he's a sadistic SOB and also appears to be more into this than I thought. Finally, he attempts to use it to get me to come and, while I must admit, I do get a little turned on, it fails to get me all the way there. I can't imagine a hard piece of leather would do a much better job but I am intrigued and add it to my Sexual To-Do list — I keep it in Google Docs; when I die, please burn my computer and also the entire Cloud — before falling fast asleep.

DAY ONE ORGASM ROUNDUP

Sunday, 9 a.m.:

Picture this: Our alarm goes off and my boyfriend sits straight up in bed and goes, "I'm up, I'm up, what do we have to do now???" It is a new day, a new dawn, and we are ready to boink again!

What you're supposed to do: While tied to the bedposts and lying on your stomach, lift your butt up and have him enter you from behind. Grip the bedpost tightly and push back against him.

What we do: Forget all that nonsense I spouted about it being a new day and a new dawn; I am tired as hell. I am thankful that, yet again, my boyfriend has to do all the work. I lie on my stomach and he does his thing as I try to stay awake and say things like, "Ooh, baby, this is so good," and he says stuff like, "Please don't patronize me." It's very sexy.

Sunday, 10 a.m.:

Oh, great! Just what you want after 24-plus hours of solid boning: a quickie!

What you're supposed to do: In a rush? Have him hold your hands above your head and pin your arms down with his elbows. His legs should pin yours down too as he enters you. Proceed to thrust quickly together.

What we do: We just have sex as fast as possible so we can watch Non-Stop. It's new on HBOGo and we both love Liam Neeson. I'm like, "Baby! Think about Liam Neeson! Saving hella people! In the air! It's Taken BUT IN THE AIR," and he's all, "Uuhhhhghhhh, I'm cominggggg." And that is exactly how it all went down, hand-to-god.

Sunday, 11 a.m.:

Because we slacked yesterday, we have to pick up the pace Sunday. Do you know what it's like to get up at 11 a.m. on a Sunday to stick Ben Wa balls inside yourself? I do.

What you're supposed to do: Bend over and grab your ankles, then have your man insert Ben Wa balls into your vagina. Walk around (or get water, like Anastasia did) with the balls inside of you. Then lie across his lap with your butt facing up. He should rub your butt, moving from your cheeks down to your clitoris. The balls inside you, along with his touch, will create an intense sensation.

What we do: Please just trust me when I give you this advice: Don't try to stick them all in at once, and go slowly. Also, buy the smallest size and always have your insurance number ready. Not that I had to do that. But it was touch and go for a few minutes. It feels like you have tiny balls in your vagina, which you do, so you're just doing one long kegel to keep them in there. If that sounds like a sexy thing to you, then get your ass some Ben Wa balls immediately. Incidentally, you can also use them in your ass.

Sunday, noon:

"I choose the desk," I whisper recklessly, as desire sweeps like adrenaline through my system, waking everything in its path.

I just popped some balls out my vagina so whatever, just bend me over and let's do this.

What you're supposed to do: Like Anastasia, take control of your man and tell him you want to have him on the desk. Lie on your back, and let him enter you, thrusting quickly.

What we do: We clear off the kitchen table that his mom bought us (sorry, Judy! Please forgive us.) as I lie back and he goes to town. We give up after a few thrusts as we both have nothing left except a desire to sleep, perchance to dream.

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Sunday, 4 p.m.:

What you're supposed to do: Get naked in front of your man and have him guide your hands down the sides of your body as he slides his leg between yours. He should rub his hands over your clitoris one finger at a time. Then, take over and start to rub yourself in front of him. Have him take back over from behind, as he kisses your neck and enters you.

What we do: I call this "the sexy TSA screening." He slides his hands up and down my body and I'm like, "Oh, Mr. Officer, let's see what I have hidden inside my clitoris!" This is actually pretty sexy and fun and a nice change of pace. After all sorts of feeling up and mutual stimulation, he enters me from behind and we have sex until we both come because we are motherfucking CHAMPS.

Sunday, 6 p.m.:

"Oh, Miss Steele." He grabs me and puts me onto his lap, sloshing water all over the floor. "I think we've done enough talking for now."

You know what sounds lovely? A relaxing bubble bath with scented candles and Enya. But some dreams come with too high a price.

What you're supposed to do: While in the bathtub, straddle your man. You should ride him, letting him watch you go up and down. Then have him take over as he lifts you, thrusting faster.

What we do: So, two things: (1) Water does not lube make. Water actually dries everything out. So there's that. This feels like a sex tip written by someone who has never had sex. (2) I think you need a pretty big bathtub for this shiz to work properly, because my standard-sized model made it look like two (sexy) beluga whales (sexily) doing it in a (sexy) teacup. I'm just saying, you need to scale up if you're moving around.

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But Mr. Grey wants to be fucked in a bathtub and so that's what Mr. Grey will get. My boyfriend (my Mr. Grey, without the abs, the creepy room, or the terrible, passive-aggressive personality) lay down on the bottom of the tub, and I slip and slid on top of him, trying to keep his penis inside of me as the water washed away all natural lubrication. Let me put it this way: I was not grinding on the wood, grind-grinding on that wood. Because our bathtub is not built for this and we have been sexing for two days straight, my boyfriend is unable to lift me as we're screwing and even if he could, at this point, he's a shell of the man he once was. His hips are thrusting but there's no light behind his eyes. We give up two minutes in and high-five, pleased to have made it that far.

Sunday, 8 p.m.:

His thumbs hook over my white cotton panties, and abruptly he drops to his knees as he tugs them off.

I honestly don't know if we're gonna make it. That's all I can think about right now. I say the Serenity Prayer and laugh until I cry.

What you're supposed to do: Lie down as your man performs oral on you. When you feel close to climaxing, have him stop. When penetration begins, wrap yourself around him as he thrusts steadily.

What we do: I lie down and my man performs oral sex on me. This is not his best showing, which is not surprising because both of our bodies are made of actual Jell-O at this point. No matter, I am fast asleep. I awake only when he asks if we can have sex and I'm like, "Sure why not? We've come this far." He half-heartedly thrusts until climax and then we both sleep for two hours. I will say, had we both not been so beaten down by Fifty Shades of Get Me Outta Here, this is something we would have enjoyed. No shame on this tip, total shame on me and this ridiculous project. I regret everything.

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Sunday, 10 p.m.:

Okay. A musical interlude. Not what I was expecting. Does he ever do what I expect? Jeez. I hope it's not rap.

We wake up in a stupor, freaking out that it is midnight, but no! Phew! We are down to the motherfucking WIRE, but we're gonna make it! We're gonna make it! Praise the lord and pass the ammunition, GOOD GOD, WE'RE GONNA MAKE IT!

What you're supposed to do: Have your man tie you up and blindfold you. Put on headphones. Have him cuff your arms and legs to the bed. Start playing music as he lightly slaps your breasts with a flogger. Then have him kiss down your body, and then start performing oral sex. When you're about to climax, have him remove your ankle restraints as he lifts you up so your back is arched and only your shoulders are on the bed. He should then thrust into you very slowly, gradually increasing his pace.

What we do: My boyfriend ties me to the arms of the bed like he means it. (I did put him through this so if he just left me for dead, it would be fully understandable.) We do the oral sex into the slight variation on missionary sex and then I realize that we've done the same thing, like, 50 times in the past two days. For all its bluster, Fifty Shades is just a bunch of oral into missionary. And I like it. I mean, it's, like, the easiest lady sex ever. It's all work for him — my boyfriend is just a dead-eyed licking and thrusting robot at this point — and all enjoyment for the lady. Maybe this is one of the reasons it resonates for so many women? It's all about us getting ours, and maybe that's something we don't get enough of in our day-to-day. Or maybe we just like reading about two weirdo hotties fucking. I can't say. What I can say is that on my next vacation, I look forward to just reading erotica on the beach, no sex required. And isn't that the goal of Fifty Shades? Or no?

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